


"That was impressive."

by AuthorinExile



Series: Fictober 2020 [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bull's Chargers, Gen, I never specify, Military Training, Protective The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Reader may or may not be Inquisitor, Sparring, The Bull's Chargers Being Bull's Chargers, The Iron Bull (Dragon Age) is a Good Friend, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29455929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorinExile/pseuds/AuthorinExile
Summary: You are shy, Krem is a flirt, and Rocky should really learn to disarm his traps after sparring sessions.
Relationships: Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi/Inquisitor, Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi/Reader, The Iron Bull & Bull's Chargers (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull (Dragon Age) & Other(s)
Series: Fictober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147928
Kudos: 9





	"That was impressive."

**Author's Note:**

> A happy Valentine's Day to Krem lovers and Krem lovers only.

You’re not staring. You really aren’t. Oh, Maker, you hope you aren’t staring. Have you been staring? Of course not. You’ve been too busy to stare. You’ve just been...peeking. A little. Every now and then.

Oh fuck, you hope the Chargers aren’t creeped out by your staring.

It’s not like it’s you  _ mean _ to stare. You  _ mean _ to finish brushing down the mounts Master Dennet entrusted to your care. Well, sort of. You came by to pet the gorgeous things, wholly unable to help yourself, and Master Dennet caught you and said that if you were going to hang around, you ought to at least make yourself useful. You won’t even pretend it was forced; you had jumped at the chance. As far as you were concerned, brushing was just as good as petting, and the horses didn’t seem to mind.

It was fine. Nice, even. There’s something meditative about the work, and the horses are so lovely, and you’ve always been good with animals. You slid into the task like you were built for it.

And then the Chargers started training.

Now, you don’t know the Bull’s Chargers very well. You haven’t exactly been introduced to them, and there are quite a few, and since they camp outside of Haven proper, you haven’t had the chance to bump into any of them. You know as much as any other inhabitant of Haven: the Iron Bull is an alright guy who fucks a different woman just about every night, the Chargers are hot shit who have been doing very well at their jobs for quite some time, and the highest-ranking officers are not to be fucked with.

That last one confirms itself when you see them draw their weapons and begin absolutely  _ wrecking _ each other’s shit.

There’s a tattooed elven woman, clearly one of the Dalish, with what looks like a mage’s staff, though she doesn’t cast a single spell. Instead, she spins and slams the staff onto her sparring partner, laughing joyously as the blade gleams dangerously in the sunlight. Her partner, another elf currently swearing in Orlesian, ducks under the staff’s arc and presses her daggers against the staff wielder’s throat, only pulling back when her target, still laughing, backflips away and kicks her in the chin for good measure.

A pale, fair-haired human man, armed with sword and shield, grunts with effort as a hooded dwarf throws what you desperately hope are not actual explosives down in their sparring circle. The dwarf draws twin daggers, but he doesn’t seem intent on using them. Instead, he taunts and goads the man with the sword until the blonde approaches. With a smirk, the dwarf throws himself to the side, using a perfectly executed handspring to leave the range of the explosive the human steps on, which releases a fine black powder into the air with a soft  _ whoosh _ . The human begins coughing and grumbling, and the dwarf, now concealed from his enemy’s sight, whistles a merry tune and walks in circles around the blinded man until the dark cloud dissipates.

You observe all this with a slack jaw, amazed, until your eyes drift to the two men seemingly in charge of this whole operation. The Iron Bull, as impossible to miss as ever, towers over the man beside him, but both of them are wielding absolutely massive instruments of destruction. The axe strapped to the Iron Bull’s back looks almost small compared to that mountain of a man, but you know without a doubt it’s at least as tall as you are. The man beside him is holding the grip of what looks like a warhammer made of stone as the hammer rests idly on the ground. The owner of the warhammer is leaning on the weapon oh-so-casually, replying with snark to whatever he discusses with his employer. The man with the warhammer suddenly laughs at something, and the sound of his voice makes your stomach give a pleasant little flip.

That’s the moment when you realize that you have been watching them for an awfully long time and begin to hope your staring isn’t too obvious or insufferable.

Apparently, your thoughts show on your face because the Iron Bull glances up, looks you over, and smirks. With an acute sense of impending doom, you watch as he leans down, whispers something to his second, and turns to walk away into Haven’s walls. The man with the warhammer pauses and begins to turn in your direction, but as soon as he starts to move, you refocus on your task and try to put it out of your mind. 

You fail, but at least you try, damn it.

Of course, you only manage to focus for so long before curiosity strikes again, and you find yourself glancing over toward the training field once more.

The other Chargers have switched partners by now, obviously trying to keep their skills sharp by switching tactics and positions on the field. Their fights are just as interesting as they first were, and their moves are just slightly different against their new opponents, but they don’t hold your attention for as long this time. Instead, your eyes find the second-in-command almost immediately.

He has set up training dummies made of wooden stands and bags of straw, but his warhammer is still settled where he was speaking to the Iron Bull. Right now, he’s wrapping his hands in cloth and bouncing on the balls of his feet, obviously doing his best to warm up in the frigid climate Haven provides. As soon as his hand wrappings are secure, he drops into a fighting stance, raising his fists at his stuffed enemy. 

He moves quickly, so quickly you have trouble following his motions, but the blows he lands shake his target and cause small bursts of straw to fly into the air. He looks pleased by this outcome, grinning confidently as he bounces back and forth on his toes in preparation to dodge a blow the training dummy will never throw. He shifts his stance constantly, moving slightly to one side or the other as he visualizes his imaginary opponent moving at him, and ducks and bobs around the dummy’s outstretched arms to smash solid hits against the thing’s sides and stomach. He moves with such careful precision, strikes with such force, and focuses with such intensity that it makes your face warm just to watch him. 

Eventually, he finally scores the one hit that bursts the seam on the bottom of the training dummy’s sack stomach. Straw lands gracelessly in the snow with a solid  _ whoomph _ , and the other Chargers cheer from where they sit on Haven’s steps catching their breaths.

“Fuck him up, Krem,” yells the Dalish elf with her hands cupped around her mouth. She claps so cheerfully it’s blatantly mocking and elbows the other elf who, with a roll of her eyes, joins in much less enthusiastically.

The man-- _ Krem?-- _ raises a hand and shakes his head like a chevalier deflecting the attention of his fans.

“Hold your applause, please. I promise there’s enough of me to go around,” he says with a smirk. His eyes flit to yours, and with an immediate and furious blush, you pull your eyes away.

_ He knew,  _ you think, mortified, followed shortly by the less embarrassing,  _ He didn’t seem to mind. _

You do your best to ignore the Chargers for a while, which goes well until you hear Krem say, “I need an actual sparring partner this time.”

The others exchange glances for a moment before the Orlesian elf stands with a shrug and says, “I’ll take any chance I can get to beat a shem’s ass.”

“Fuck him up, Skinner,” the Dalish elf shouts encouragingly.

“No fucking loyalty at all,” Krem complains.

“It’s not an issue of loyalty,” Skinner smirks. “It’s an issue of knowing who’s going to win.”

Krem bristles at this, which you’re guessing is exactly the reaction Skinner wanted. You didn’t see who won in her previous matches, but she’s got a cold, calculating aura. You get the impression she is very good at what she does.

Also, her name is fucking  _ Skinner _ .

You don’t watch most of the match. You know by now that you’re being far too obvious for anyone’s liking. Not that it matters, really, since you’re done with your job, and you can only hang around so long before it becomes obvious that you aren’t working at all anymore.

Still, you take your time putting away your supplies, and you gently pat the nose of every mount you pass on your way out of the stables.

It’s just then, as you exit the stables and start to head for Haven’s gate, that Krem finally lands the blow that ends the match. With one swift uppercut, he sends Skinner falling backward with so much force she leaves a trail in the snow. She stands unsteadily, blood trickling down her chin from where she bit her own lip, and glares daggers at Krem. 

“Better get Stitches to look at that,” Krem gloats, “and at your pride. Make sure the bruising isn’t too bad.”

Skinner snorts and walks away, still dripping blood. The other elf tentatively says, “Er, fuck her up, Krem?”

“Too little, too late, you goddamn traitor.”

Krem is grinning though, so you imagine he’s not terribly upset. He puts a hand on his hip as he shifts his weight and turns in your direction, still grinning, but this time you don’t bother looking away or trying to hide. Not really any point in it, you figure. Instead, you smile slightly in return.

Krem manages one long stride towards you when the hooded dwarf’s head shoots up as he says, “Oh, sod.”

Black powder doesn’t erupt from Krem’s feet as you expect. Instead, there’s a low rumbling, and then the snow explodes into the air.

So does Krem, actually.

He doesn’t go far, which is probably only dumb luck, but he does lift off the ground and gets pushed backward. He only goes a few feet, but Haven is located on a hill, and a few feet is all it takes for him to go tumbling down it.

He gives a muffled yelp, and quite a bit of snow slides down the hill after him, and then there is silence.

“Oh, shit, is he dead?”

The Chargers look at you, as surprised by your question as you are, before turning their gazes on the hooded dwarf.

“No,” he says confidently. Then his face spasms and he adds, “Probably not. He shouldn’t be.”

The Dalish elf sighs heavily and says, “I’ll go get Stitches. Grim, be a dear and grab the boss, would you?”

The blonde human grunts and nods before walking into Haven. The Dalish elf walks into the trees surrounding Haven and vanishes among them, totally at home.

The two remaining Chargers exchange glances with each other and with you.

“I’m not doing shit for that prick,” Skinner says easily, jerking her chin in the direction Krem fell. “Go clean up your mess, Rocky.”

Rocky grumbles agitatedly but doesn’t outright argue. Not that you’d hear if he had much to say since by now you’ve started rummaging through your bag as you walk towards Krem’s landing place. You retrieve your first aid kit just as you crest the hill and catch sight of Krem where he has, somehow, slid nearly all the way to the frozen river. Snow surrounds him like rumpled sheets and, alarmingly, there’s a small puddle of blood under his head. You can’t see his face from here, turned away from you as he is, so you shout down, “Are you alive?”

There’s a long moment of silence that has you hoping he’s only unconscious before, with a heavy sigh, he says, “Yeah,” in a tone that’s almost disappointed.

Relieved, you mostly walk, sometimes slide down the hill to rest at his side. This close, you can clearly read the glower on his face as he stares out across the icy expanse of the river. He looks like he’s pouting, which… Well, it’s adorable, really, especially since you can now tell that he really is as devastatingly handsome as you had suspected. The effect isn’t even ruined by his heavily bleeding nose that you hope is the reason for the blood under his head. You kneel at his side and force yourself into field medic mode.

“Where does it hurt? Do you think anything is broken?”

“Just my pride,” he mumbles before giving his head the tiniest shake. Louder, he adds, “No, nothing’s broken. ‘Cept my nose, I think.”

“Then… Why are you still on the ground?”

He shrugs. The impact is diminished by the fact that he’s still on his side on the ground. Apparently, he has a flair for the dramatic.

“Well, you should at least sit up. I can give you something for the pain and the nosebleed, alright? Maybe a bandage for the nose?”

He eyes you for a moment and then nods, pushing himself upright as though it requires every effort in the world. You beam at him, and his eyes dart away from you nervously.

“Here, hold still for me,” you instruct as you pull the necessary strips of cloth and a small box of useful mixtures from your bag. You’re hardly a world-class alchemist, but you know how to make some small useful things to numb pain and close small wounds.

“I’m Krem,” he says as he allows you to dab the drying blood off of his cheek and upper lip, both of which turn out to have small scrapes.

“I know,” you reply absentmindedly, flushing when he quirks an eyebrow at you. “I-I mean, I heard one of your friends call you that, so I just assumed… Anyway.”

You tell him your own name a bit sheepishly, but his small smile soothes your anxiety considerably. The silence that settles between the two of you as you mix your poultice together, however, brings it back, so you scramble for a topic of conversation.

“That was impressive,” you settle on. You feel yourself blush when he gives you an incredulous look. 

“Well, I mean,” you correct, “the sparring was impressive, before…”

“Before I stepped on Rocky’s goddamn landmine, you mean.”

His voice isn’t cheerful, exactly, but he now has a small smile on his face. Obviously, he finds some measure of humor in the situation, so you don’t feel so bad about the fact you’ve been trying not to laugh at his dramatics, if not at the sight of him flying over the snowy curve of the hill. 

You apply a thin layer of the poultice to the quickly darkening bruise spreading across his nose and dab a bit on his various small scrapes, smiling sympathetically when he winces at the touch.

“Yeah,” you agree softly, “before that.”

“Damn you, Cremisius Aclassi,” a gruff voice says from above you. Looking up, you see the Iron Bull throwing his hands up exaggeratedly. “Always falling all over yourself for a pretty face.”

This last part is said with a look towards you that, despite having only one eye, is still very obviously a wink. You don’t know how the fuck he managed that, but under your embarrassment, you’re damn near impressed.

Beside you, Krem sighs and closes his eyes, slumping forward slightly as though to brace himself. When he sits back up, he pulls himself to his feet, dusting the snow off his legs, and says conversationally, “Heya, Chief. Took you long enough to haul your fat ass out here. Figured you’d left me for dead and recruited some new second-in-command.”

The Iron Bull makes a show of considering the possibility, looking toward the sky and scratching his chin contemplatively.

“Well, now that you mention it, Cullen is a pretty good fighter… Nah, he and Dalish wouldn’t get along, I think.”

“Why would he have a problem with me?” Dalish turns out to be the Dalish elf with a staff. You’re not exactly surprised. She smiles mischievously and continues, “I’m just a simple archer.”

The Iron Bull ignores her to look Krem over. He hides it under quick glances and sharp snark, but he’s concerned. It’s...kind of sweet, really, to see this huge, scarred leader of such a strong mercenary company doing his best to be subtle about his mother henning.

“One of these days,” he says with a disbelieving shake of his head, “Rocky’s gonna kill somebody. Maybe himself, even.”

Rocky snorts.

“Tch. As if I’m enough of an amateur to get caught in my own blast. The hell do I look like? A kid?”

“You look like an asshole,” Krem snaps, “which fits, turns out. Didn’t Skinner tell you to check on me?”

“She did. I checked on you from up on the hill.” With a glance at you, he continues, “Your friend here seemed to have it all under control.”

A bald man with dark skin suddenly shoves past the Iron Bull and stomps right up to Krem. He looks the other man over critically, glances down at you as you put away your things, and snorts derisively as he turns to Dalish.

“Next time, make sure there’s not another actually competent medic around before interrupting my quiet time, if you please. I only get so much freedom from you assholes. And Krem?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop doing stupid shit to get hurt while we’re in  _ safe _ territory, you imbecile.”

“Thanks for the concern, Stitches,” Krem shouts as the other man walks away.

You snort a surprised laugh, catching yourself far too late to actually stop the noise. Krem gives you a blinding grin.

“He doesn’t want to admit it,” he confides, “but he’s been taken in by my good looks.”

The Iron Bull, the only one of the Chargers except for Krem who hasn’t wandered off by now, looks between the two of you. A slow grin creeps over his face, and he clasps Krem’s shoulder tightly.

“You know Krem, it might be easier to avoid getting blown up if you stopped showing off during sparring sessions.”

“Oh, piss off, Chief,” he groans, shrugging off the enormous hand. “I was already  _ done _ showing off when it happened.”

You feel your face burning. The Iron Bull retreats to his tent, laughing loudly--though whether at Krem’s confidence or your reaction, you couldn’t possibly guess.

Krem, suddenly sheepish, rubs the back of his neck and fixes his gaze on the ground as he turns toward you. The silence is heavy, but you feel almost giddy instead of anxious.

“Listen, we--”

“Krem, I--”

You both freeze, staring at each other, but neither is willing to speak again for several minutes.

Krem’s grin is slow and measured and painfully charming. You wonder if he knows how attractive he is. He must, right? He sees that face in every mirror and dark window and pool of water. There’s no way he doesn’t know what effect that smile has.

_ If he doesn’t _ , you decide,  _ I’ll be sure to tell him _ .

“It’s been a rough day,” Krem remarks. “We deserve drinks. I’ll buy.”

His stance is relaxed, his voice is casual, but in his eyes, you can see the nerves.

Your answering grin takes his breath away.

“I’d like that.”


End file.
